Maddie's Love-Child

‘Oh, we are. Very. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Vaughan.’

‘Nothing?’ Miles echoed in a dryly derisive voice.

Maddie slanted him a look of mock horror, then smiled a devilishly attractive smile. God, but the woman was more than wicked. She was downright irresistible.

‘If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, Mr. MacMillan,’ she said, ‘then shame on you. Vaughan is a married man. Not only that, his wife is my very best friend. Even if I chose to overlook my hard-and-fast rule never to sleep with married men, I could never betray Carolyn. You’ve met her, haven’t you?’

‘Briefly.’

‘Then you must know anyone who betrayed such a sweetie should have a millstone put around her neck and be cast into the depths of the Pacific Ocean. Anyway, Vaughan’s besotted with her. He wouldn’t look twice at another woman, and especially not me.’

‘Why not you?’ he said.

‘Because he doesn’t fancy me. Never did. We’re good friends, nothing more.’

‘And you don’t fancy him?’

‘Heaven’s, no. He’s not my type at all.’

‘And what’s your type?’

She gave him a look that made him grateful he wasn’t driving. As it was, his heart and loins leapt uncontrollably.

Maddie silently berated herself as she returned her eyes to the road. You call that subtle, you idiot? You have to play this fellow like a fish. Slowly and very, very carefully.

But damn it all, she did find him so delicious. She dearly wished to take his startled face and kiss the shock from his mouth and from his eyes. She wanted to whisper wickedly seductive things into his ears and make him squirm with desire, wanted to strip him of those wonderfully stuffy clothes and caress him till he was trembling with need and longing.

An almost alien heat suffused Maddie’s whole body at the thought of his flesh fusing with hers. My God, if she didn’t know better, she might think she actually wanted this man. In a physical sense, that is.

Impatiently, she dismissed the idea. Impossible! She’d never really wanted a man like that! And probably never would.

This foreign excitement had to have something to do with choosing him as the father of her baby. Knowing that she might conceive made even thinking about sleeping with the man so much more marvellously meaningful.

‘Is it much farther to the house?’ Miles asked abruptly.

‘Nope. Fact is, we’re here!’

Miles glanced up as the car suddenly zoomed off the road and up a steep driveway, his eyes rounding at the sight of the impressive concrete-and-glass construction looming high over them.

Not dissimilar to Julian’s house, it seemed to cling to the cliff, its two storeys sporting identical semicircular balconies, which would give a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the ocean.

The black bomb roared to the crest of the steep slope, levelling out only momentarily before plunging into a large parking area under the building. Miles sucked in a deep breath as Maddie braked to a savage halt barely inches short of the cliff wall at the back of the unfinished garages. The F.J. Holden shuddered as the engine died.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said without a shred of apology in her voice. ‘But I have to give the old girl plenty of gas to get up that drive, then I have to brake hard to stop in time. You won’t have any trouble in your Audi.’

‘In that case, we’ll bring the Audi next time, shall we?’ he said, straightening his tie as he struggled out onto still unsteady feet. The tie didn’t need straightening. It was just something he did to cover any inner agitation, as though by straightening his clothes he could straighten out his thoughts—and his life. He’d been doing it a lot these past twelve months.

‘If you like.’ She shrugged indifference to his car as she hopped out from behind the wheel and smoothed down her leather pants.

A thought flashed into his mind of Annabel and her passion for limousines. She wouldn’t be seen dead driving around in this old bomb of Maddie’s. Or dressed in black leather, for that matter.

Miles knew which woman he preferred and marvelled anew at his apparent lack of taste. His mother would be appalled if she could see him now.

Or would she? he puzzled.

She’d changed since his father’s death. Loosened up, for want of a better word. And grown in self-confidence. She’d been surprisingly supportive about his decision to break his engagement to Annabel and take off for far-flung shores for a while.

Miles secretly hoped she would marry again, some nice kind man who would love her to death and dance attendance on her. She deserved it, after his pig of a father. It killed Miles to think he might take after that man in any way at all.

‘Anything the matter?’ Maddie quizzed him.

Miles blinked, then focused across the bonnet of the car onto her very sexy red mouth. It was wide and lush, and he couldn’t wait to be ravaged by it.

‘You were scowling,’ she added.

‘Scowling’s a family trait,’ he said ruefully.

‘Then give it up,’ she suggested airily. ‘It’s unbecoming.’

Miles was taken aback. No woman had dared to criticise him openly in years. He should have chilled any other’s woman’s temerity with a frosty look. Instead, he found a smile tugging at his mouth.

‘All right,’ he agreed.

She seemed taken aback for a second before smiling back. ‘You know, you’re even more good-looking when you smile,’ she said with a disarming but charming candour.

Miles might have blushed if his body had known how. ‘You think so?’

‘I know so. Fact is, Miles MacMillan, you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.’ Her head cocked on one side, she looked him up and down for the umpteenth time. ‘I’d really like to paint you.’

‘Paint me? You mean a portrait?’

‘Sort of. Painting people is a passion with me. I’ve been doing it for years and making good money out of it, too. You’d make a perfectly divine subject for my entry in this year’s Whitbread Prize. Might I persuade you to sit for me some time?’

‘The Whitbread Prize,’ he repeated as he wandered round the front of her car to stand less than a metre in front of her. ‘What’s that?’

‘It’s an art competition.’

Miles felt hopelessly flattered yet slightly flustered at the same time. It had something to do with the way that glittering black gaze was appraising him, like she was undressing him with her eyes and seeing him without a stitch on.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, glad his suit jacket was of the new double-breasted style and hid his growing discomfort. ‘Wouldn’t you be better off with an Australian subject?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Heavens, no. The subject doesn’t have to be known. Frankly, it’s better if they’re not. Less embarrassing that way.’

Miles swallowed slowly. ‘What do you mean? Less embarrassing?’

‘Oh, didn’t I mention it? All the paintings entered in the Whitbread Prize are nudes.’

‘Nudes.’ Miles gulped. How could he possibly pose for her in the nude when his body would be raging with desire all the time? Embarrassing was not the word. It would be simply humiliating! ‘I, er, don’t think I, umm ...’